I see them in movies, I read about them in books and magazines, I watch them walk by hand in hand. Cuddling, fucking, laughing, sighing, tickling each other, wishing they were flying away together. I am focused, OK, maybe obsessed with duos.

Couples, through and through and through it all yet I get so frustrated with being solo…still…that I’ve begun to realize while others ARE already matched, I wonder curiously why am I not just like that? If I put as much time into a career for myself as I have drinking, fucking, thinkin’ and smoking my way through pages of journals and posts on here I’d at least have that to keep me company on the cold nights that crawl on by year after year; so familiar I expect my written words to call me by name. But it never happens.

I was on a train recently coming from a friend’s house when I noticed a guy, about my age (OK, younger!) hopping on board. Just him, in a pair of shorts and t-shirt that were slightly sweated upon, and he sat on a seat facing the direction I am facing. He’s actually riding so the outside is rolling by backwards while I see everything going forward.

He’s super cute, in my opinion, and I bet he’s heading home from the gym after an afternoon of letting all the shit from the day he spent fall away. No wonder he’s sweaty. I watch him, while reading my “hello mr.” magazine curious to who he’ll gaze or rather, look, at. Will he check out boys or girls getting on, or off I guess, free to smile, or speak as he sees fit?

I catch him looking at me for a second, remember, I’m just a guy reading across the train car, and his eyes “say”….well they say nothing. He looks out the window, rubbing his forehead & shutting his eyes for a second, then looking back out.

The article I’m reading in “hello mr.” magazine is also about a man’s habit or obsession, except in the piece it’s with Instagram, the Facebook for photos. The article, titled “Infinite Scroll: Always Looking” begins with “I’ve been single for nearly two years in New York City. That, coupled with the slow crawl to thirty…” I immediately feel a connection with this author as I too have been single for two years now, I once lived in New York City, and I experienced the “crawl to thirty,” and the “skip to forty” and well…. there’s a connection between us, totally, because I feel it.

The author goes on to write about the evening in his apartment, solo also, and his take on Instagramming, the “scroll that proceeds is second nature” to him (more connection!) and what he “likes,” what he’s thinking while scrolling, and then, unusual point of view, he wonders “how is a relationship different when it has an audience?”

This is my first time to read “hello mr.” and while I’m not curious about what the author is curious about, I’m actually feeling just like said audience member while watching the sweaty guy across the train. The author goes on to mention several Instagramers, who it seems have 1000s more followers than I do on the site, and, what fascinates and also hooks him on watching these popular photo posts. Actually naming two couples by name, with their Instagram handles written out, he says “these men are matching-tattoo-level in love. Their Instagram feeds are are a less-than-true reflection of a nevertheless true romance.”

More connection as he is a single man in a well-known, infamous, big city, at home on a perpetually “right night” to go out on, wondering what’s the real deal with these I bet-hip and obviously popular, gay couples and their actual relationships. Shit, I’m doing exactly the same thing except in a different city, on a train heading home, oogling the hot, sweaty man in this traincar, wondering what his actual day was like, or will be like, right now!

Suddenly I’m jump-skipping all over my (life) history remembering old partners who came home sweaty from their own workout, or ones I wanted to partner with who chose another option, I mean, their own man, and my own actual Instagram friends, coupled or not. And in a way I am scrolling through the memory-feeds that are in my head and if I wasn’t on Wellbutron, I’d be tearing up, sad to prepare my walk away from this man here, just as I have with more men than I can count on my fingers. Ugh.

I grab my phone ☎ and send myself a text that reads “I’m a man who doesn’t just look at hot men coming back from the gym as pretty. I look at them as examples of what I am not and think “He must have the most beautiful husband at home. Wonder if he’s looking at me with similar interests and thoughts?”

In the past I would have moved closer to this guy, sat by him and asked “Where do you workout around here?” or brought up Instagram. Something to break the non-existent ice! But instead, I look out my own window, wish all the peeps in my thoughts a “great day” and jot down a final text to myself:”I want to have the ultimate romance story happen with me in it, meeting a man of my dreams in the weirdest way, falling in love anyway and getting together regardless of real life crap like trying and still getting sexually denied or, as often, frowned upon because I’m not his type.

Ugh. I go back to reading and think “Whether I’m up or down, in or out, I am worthwhile, I am a great fuck and an even better repeat dinner date. But, I keep on going solo, still holding a hope that “my” guy IS out there on his own train, wondering where “the single man in his forties, reading “hello mr.” is” as he stands to step off.

Summertime and there is not a drop in the sky or upon the ground here in Portland. It’s Summer after all and I suppose it matters not where you live, visit or awaken, clarity is the name, or rather a name of the weather game. Four seasons is not what I have truly become used to after 30 + years in the city of Houston.

But I no longer live in Houston, at least for now, but I’ll refrain from hoping, praying, guessing, pleading about where I will or shall be in the future. Today, Friday July 11, I am in the beautiful Northwest of these United States. It is exactly where I hoped, prayed, plead and guessed I would be beginning in August of 2013. Be careful what you wish, hope, pray, etc….for, as they say because it often rolls out as you want. Big lesson I’ve been gifted with since my arrival in the first week of March 2014? I’m human.

I’m impatient, judgemental, self-centered, jealous and I only actually learn anything as I look back upon it, never AS it is happening. Grateful I’ve come to understand that obvious piece of reality that I have no doubt most people learn as a child, teenager, young adult or actual adult.-“Better late than never!” #truth

I’m very happy that I can sit here today and thoughtfully compose this entry for “Come Undone” a title I came up with nearly 4 years ago and one I love even more today. Walk through your life long enough and when you reflect back on each experience, experiment, exchange or emergency I suppose clarity is not only a gift but a gratitude seed. If you’re eased or sober or hopefully both as I have been.

I’m not complaining though it may seem like I am. I AM happy, filled with SO much within my vision and day to day….days, that I’m pretty sure the epiphanies I have/had/am having are moments that cause most people to say “Well D’UH!”

I dunno. Maybe I have never fully recovered from the accident that I was a part of back in November of 2013. I was unconscious for 6 weeks. Not actually unaware but if you ask me about December 2013 I’d be lying if I told you one moment from that month. Oh I had preplanned a LOT, specifically moving the fuck out of Houston, out of all the shadows and graves of the people, places and things I had created, mostly when I was high on drugs or wasted on alcohol, but having made it “through” all of my own creations,

I WAS READY to recreate my life as I wanted it to be. As I wanted myself to be. As I wanted my boyfriend and my friends to be. All while giving from myself the pages and pages of “hard lessons of life” I did indeed go through, walk through….or maybe flee from is the best way to say it. It was done and so was I so time to move and share and regrow.

Haha, well if you have ever paid attention to the fields of fresh fruits in the lands around you you’ll know they are usually filled with fresh manure, shut actually, at least in the beginning to assure that the planted seeds will prosper and flower fully with blooms of every size, color and shape possible.

Basically the way tools are and the way it is, or at very least, smells, are 2 very different things. Which would you prefer? Bet I know.

Upon my actual awakening I figured something out. It’s written how exactly as I shared it with my friends on Facebook. Thought my WordPress friends deserved the same honest gift since you have stayed and read with me for quite some time. I THANK and APPRECIATE each of you. Overdue I know but better late than never. No, never is never the right time. But today, all that I actually have, is.

MAY 24 2014, near Portland, OR.

I’ve had an epiphany. I have been a TERRIBLE friend and man for a long time, especially the last 3 years; One who instantly judges and defines people because of my own deep-seeded fears.

By defining you before really “knowing” or accepting you (as you truly are) I thought I was saving myself of a lot of trouble and eventual heartache. “Well fuck them, they don’t really like me anyway,” “Ugh. He’s so crappy, good thing I never became my real self on front him.” You get the idea, right?

I did not. Instead of saving trouble & heartache I CAUSED IT. I pushed all of you and so many more AWAY thinking I was in the right. I was so VERY wrong. And it only took me 2000 miles or more from y’all to finally see myself.

I AM TRULY SORRY. I ask for your forgiveness and hope that I can change all the wreckage from “then” and stop it from happening now. —feelingweak.

=JH=

I had a “Viewmaster” toy while growing up. I loved popping a round set of photos into it and click, click, clicking from one side of the world to another, without ever having to go anywhere except my imagination. SEEING and BEING aren’t just spelled differently, they ARE different. So what are you?
Seeing isn’t being, doing IS.

It’s a clear, beautiful Fall Friday afternoon and though the clouds have been holding on to the sky for much of the day so far, they are not, as they often do in Spring or Winter, opening up. Reality. Not a word or a truth I have ever completely embraced or practiced in my life, however in 2014, from the moment I came to in a (surprise!) a hospital room, it has been at the forefront of my day. Today. And Today. And Today. You understand, right?

Or maybe you do not understand. It took me so much living of my actual life to ever sense, embrace and calmly hold the appreciation I now have for the day-to-day reality I live in. Things change, often BAM quicker than one can have an actual realization of WTF is going on. That’s how life is. Unless you decide you’re done and take it upon yourself to end this life. NOW. Why does anyone ever decide to breakdown and give up this life each of us has been given? If you are alive in a war-torn city or country, or riddled with poverty, disease…both? Maybe. Worse, if you are just with yourself, single, lonely, wishing for someone to be with, even if for just a moment? Then your reasoning to check out is much more understood.
But what if you “have everything?”Health, wealth, children, wife or wives, popularity, success, even an Oscar? THAT’S A LOT by anyone’s perspective regardless of if you “have nothing” except trouble, terror and torn up tales.

I wrote all of what you’ll read below, recently, on a day when I was wondering and worrying and wishing things were different. I was pissed. Way unhappy with how things were or are. “Why me?” or worse ” Why NOT me?” I don’t have any clearer answer today for my questions than I did then.

Know what I do have? Another day. Another chance that some of what I longed for will come about. Perhaps not. BUT you and I will get to SEE WHAT does happen.

Robin Williams, a man with what most people will agree is, or was rather, blessed beyond believability, sliced his wrist and then hung himself Monday. 4 days ago he decided “NO MORE” and he left. He left all of us with…..questions. Too many “Why?” and not enough “Why Not Laugh?” It fucking sucks and is sad and unanswerable. But he’s gone. I’m not and neither are you. So, now what? To be continued, for real.

This is the 2nd note to myself I’m writing. Have no idea what happened to the other one. I had a huge realization as I watched a brand new Kia drive by the store front window where I work. My jealous, envious mindset started screaming “Why don’t I have one!!”

“OH YEAH because I don’t have the money to get one because I need to have money saved for a purchase that size. Because I don’t have a career. In fact I have FAILED at everything I attempted: relationships, boyfriends, jobs, career, art, even AA. Shit I wrote this out a few minutes before now and it “disappeared” just as I was going to send myself a copy ’cause my very own thoughts are too revealing for even myself.!” GRRRRRRRRR.

And the biggest thing I came to understand about myself, today at least, is it wouldn’t have mattered if I did have the car, driving on the way home from a job that matters, that I enjoy. Nope because I’d still be so envious, jealous and wanting things I can’t afford or create myself. No man. No art. No acting. No friends. Just my 3 cats to go home to and 2 of them are older and 1 of those 2 is not really being herself lately. She’s going to pass away, they all are. I AM. Prayer and Faith in that which I believe in but do not ever see is all I have. No brothers or father anymore. Just myself and tears welling up to such a depth that I am miserable with this life that I have “made it” in. Now what? There’s no escaping that which really is today no matter what I drink, smoke do or don’t do. The end.

Except it isn’t the end. Almost 25 years ago when I tested HIV positive I had an ocean of thoughts, fears and sadness. I figured they who had told me and the people whose articles I had read about HIV knew way more than I did about my diagnosis and what was getting ready to happen to me. I believed everything I had read, heard, saw on TV or watched happen with other Positive men and I was scared. I was only 25 and had lived a lot of life, some of it on MTV in Manhattan when I lived there and felt I was on the edge of cracking open the box filled with, tada, my future.Future love, companions, money, direction, and fame of some sort.

Why I am still acting like that 25-year-old hoper, wisher, believer in “the best, after lessons, natch” today?

I honestly don’t know.

What. Am. I. Here. For? What can I be? Who… or better yet Why??? But the bottom line is I am still wandering around waiting on Him, Me, You….someone to show me, tell me, or ugh…give me my destiny, destination, my reason for making it through this drug addiction, alcoholism, 2 two-month long hospital stays where my death wasn’t an if but a when and more jobs than I can even remember!

All with the “This is it!” attitude I seem to grow fresh upon each new full moon, day after day, season after season, decade after decade. And here I sit more afraid than ever that I am

going to live to see my reality, my actual downfall, in all its glory. Plastered across everywhere including all the social media spots ever invented. SEE?? HE WAS ALWAYS A DISGUSTING FAILURE AND NOW HE’S ON THE STREET, WITH NOTHING AND NO ONE. PATHETIC.

I came to Portland, Oregon because I visited here 1 week in September of 2013 after writing a scathing post regarding my desperation and hatred on my “life” as it was or seemed to be that very day.

The night I left The Eagle in Houston after wearing a leather harness and tight jeans, ready to dance and flirt and go home with some big, hip man and fuck like I HAD made it. Only instead to be ignored, completely, by the men I knew and worse, by the new one’s I did not know. Months of working out, staying sober, being as peaceful and appreciative as was possible, prayerfully giving my fear and disappointment to God knowing He had a plan, or else why keep me alive through ALL this just to drop me tonight when I looked, felt, was happy. Understood. Needed.

And I got nothing.

My visit to Portland, staying with my dear friend, Tony, who I had used and mistreated and underappreciated, but who I had become friends with again. Living in Portland with his very kind, very handsome husband, I was invited to come see what Tony had been telling me for quite some time was a beautiful, welcoming, fun and free city in the Northwest. So I bought a ticket and came. And from the moment I first saw the downtown skyline against the background of hills and river, later catching Mount Hood gleaming in the distance with PDX in its shadows, I knew I had found it. THE city I had been getting my shit together to not just visit but MOVE to. I enjoyed an amazing week of job interviews, restaurants, mountains, waterfalls, and more “just gay” guys and gals than I had ever seen including one guy, on his birthday, that I spent the night with. Success! I’m coming ASAP!

Except after I moved here I quickly had those rose-colored glasses removed from my eyes and the day-to-day city of Portland was BOOM, here. And there I was, more disappointed and unsure now of WTF AM I GOING TO DO than ever.

I don’t know. Jobs are here, I am becoming acquainted with them and with where I want to live, work, play, all of it. It’s right there. And yet I remain here. WTF is right. The “W” can stand for “What,” “Who,” “Where” or “Why” and I can only honestly answer I. Don’t. Know. The end. Again.

DESERVE: de·serve\di-ˈzərv\ – to be worthy, fit, or suitable for some reward or requital

What do you believe is “deserved?” By you, to you, for you…or for others that you see or hear or more likely, that you know?

For years I was certain of what I deserved, what you deserved, what everyone I knew deserved because I’m a man with precise attention, time and opinions on everything. I had watched the world play out in front of me, WITH me and I was good with it all. I really believed that I was “good with my life” and lived accordingly.

Then I began receiving what I REAPED… from my actual actions.

Quickly (it seemed) I became single in the “best” years of my life and then lost my career, my friends, family and finally my mental and physical health.

If you’ve read here before you know this story (if not peruse the previous posts) that I not only recovered but I grew. As a man, as a friend, as a brother and son.

It lead me to what I mention below: Portland, Oregon in September 2013. All the trouble and disappointment I had been through was wiped away (I thought) and I suddenly had a new goal and purpose: leaving Houston and remaking my life in PDX but this time I would be consciously sober, sane and selfless.

I swear I thought all I’m writing about was the truth.

There are actual truths in this post but as I learned days ago, God did (does) have a plan with and for me but that actual plan is wide open and full of so much reality that I would not have come to Portland had I known what was going to happen. I’m glad I did. I’d never have listened otherwise.

I got, am getting what I ACTUALLY DESERVE. Lesson after lesson of how it really is in my life. What I “wanted.” I’m not mad or feeling mistreated at all. I’m grateful God loves me enough to tell me…SHOW me the truth. I deserve it.

This is a story about what I thought was going to be love with a man, THE man I believed was meant for me for real. In a way he was “meant for me” but for reasons I never even knew I had or needed. But I did and hopefully you will learn your own truths and reasons by reading this.

-ACTUAL EMAILS BELOW WITH “THE” MAN AND MYSELF WITH EDITS FOR HIS PRIVACY-

On Jun 27, 2014, at 11:06 PM, Johnny Hooks wrote:

XXXX,

I haven’t had the awesome time with you that I have thought about (often) since I first handed you the “You’re the Fucking Man” card in March.

When I first saw you I had only recently moved to Portland from Houston. I came to this city last September after my longtime friend, Tony, invited me here after I blew up (via Facebook) on my experiences (or lack of them) in Houston in 2013.

I had been taking care of myself, especially my body, and I was proud of what I had physically achieved for the first time in several years; only to be completely ignored night after night that I went out in town and while dancing.

For the first time ever I wore one a leather harness to The Eagle in HTXwhen I went out dancing. I’m a great dancer, have been for a long time and it is one way that I release the stress of life itself, by hitting the dance floor for literally hours at a time, usually only stopping at night’s end or just to grab a water or 10 or tear off a soaking wet shirt. Really.

But on that particular night I was FURIOUS. I had worked so hard on my look for months, expecting to be sought after by some of the “cool” guys I saw every week.

Expectations are THE way to set oneself up for disappointment, I have learned, and I have (had) them about almost everything: my art, photography, success in work, and, yep, guys. Certainly guys I liked, admired or had crushes on…usually all 3 with one guy.

Long story but Tony invited me to visit Portland, I accepted and came in that month and fell SO into this new city I had heard of but had never been to.

I was here a week for perfect, warm yet coolish days and nights (with NO humidity!); a live show at Doug Fir with 2 new girlfriends; then seeing a band I loved who made no Houston visits, “HEM” at the Aladdin Theater; dinners and coffees all over; I even went out to a queer club here by myself and met a group of nice, talkative gay guys, one celebrating his birthday and was went to Silverado with him and his buddy.

I also went home with him alone and stayed till 9 am having a sweet but dirty and “fucking” fun time, no puns intended.

I knew immediately this was where I needed to be, to live, to recreate my life, here in this beautiful, cool, hip and friendly town. It was perfect and I was becoming friends with people at the Alano Club here just like I had at Lambda in Houston. Yay!

Expectations, remember?

There’s more to my journey here: being run over on my scooter in HTX weeks before I was leaving and the 2 month hospital stay, my job changes, and an unending determinstion to “GO” there (here) no matter what.

But I hope to talk to you in person about this. At dinner. And after, when we are walking home. Before bed when we are both naked and all over each other, as if we are hungry for each other like never before. The “first” time one more time, ya know?

“THE” man himself

I want to be with you. Inside each other, with my tongue, with my hands, with my cock. And vice versa. And as mentioned I have been thinking about this happening with us for 3 months. More.

BUT. I have no idea what I am doing wrong. I kept thinking I was imagining how I was misreading you. On the way home from seeing you so many times I was floating!

I just knew (or thought) you were an answer to a long standing prayer I had about meeting “the guy” and us being together, once again in my life. I kept from telling you this much detail because I was afraid I would say too much or upset you…in one way or another.

I decided I was wrong, that I pretended to think you really were as attracted to me as I was (AM) to you. That after moving here I realized first hand that everything that had happened with (to) me in September 2013 had been coincidences that I took as fate or “meant to be” moments.

And then realizing I was wrong about you too? It was the last straw I felt I had left only to have it cracked in two while I held it.

So XXXX. I have read your Tumbr and seen your full name and read a few of your own thoughts about stuff…about life.

You’ve now read mine and I have more to talk with you about. Over coffee. Or with my hands on your beautiful face or chest…or both.

So XXXX, interested now? I’m a big boy. I wont break. Just tell me your truth like I’ve told you mine. We’ll at least have that and no one will crack it into pieces while we hold it.

Until then…

Your fan,

Johnny

Another message Galaxy Noted!

=JH=
———————————————
XXXXX Edwards wrote:

Hey Johnny,
Thanks for writing me you dancing machine. I also LOVE to dance haha
Well if you have been on my Tumblr, you’d know that I have a boyfriend.

I know I’m an amazing guy, and it’s because momma raised me right lol.

I’m one of the few loyal men there are.
That being said, I can tell you’re a swell guy, and I’m sure your brain is super complex and interesting.

All I can offer you is friendship. Which is something I find will be more valuable than a trial and error relationship. I’ve been with the guy I’m seeing for about a year, not including a month separation. I live with him in a house with a few other gay dudes. We’re moving into our very own place next week. I start beauty school in September and when I’m done with that, I plan on getting my career going and proposing to this man.

I’m a young 21 year old man who has aspirations for a bright future. I’m polite, kind, friendly, respectful and down to earth.

I say put the romance novel down and grab a beer. I’m just a regular guy who you could be good friends with.

Hope to hear from ya
Best,
XXXX

Ps: thanks for the photos, someone here is gonna love the hell out of ya.
Sent from my iPhone
———————————————

On Jun 28, 2014, at 5:47 PM, Johnny Hooks wrote:

X.X.

Glad the truths were told. Congrats on the partner, he’s a lucky man.
Appreciate you lending your hand for friendship too, but I know I can’t.
My only goal now is departure and while it will take patience and God’s blessings, I am unafraid.

Cheers __________,

Johnny

———————————————

From: “XXXXXX Edwards”

Date: Jun 28, 2014 6:11 PM

Subject: Re: Coffee…” is delicious.

To: “Johnny Hooks”

Cc:

Good luck

Sent from my iPhone
———————————————

What happens next? July is hours away and my life recreation begins. Again.

May. In Portland. Tick and tock boy I used to hate the click. Oops, of course I meant clock but actually click works, too.

Days run 24 hours and they run daily…having been run over by a truck I know how “no shit” that sounds but lemme roll with my thoughts on time for a second (haha…SEE?) and I bet you’ll have a thought or 50, too.

I promise to lay off the “too” word, too.

There are a lot of people in this world and more and more in my sphere or the PDX sphere, rather that I run into. Not actually RUN into but our paths cross walking from here to there, catching the bus or train. Even grabbing a jet to get you there? People join on their way there.

Do you care? Do you get disappointed by the attention lacking or bones tired from packing? How about how you got your hair fixed or forgot to fix but certainly are reminded of the moment your eyes spy a similar looking man or woman right in front of you? And do they notice you back?

Who knows? Oh people know many things. Like the things you know that they MUST notice: your hair, eyes, smile..maybe that Kate or Jack Spade piece? Or how about your frustration, degradation, anticipation? Or as you actually suspect, everyone is doing and going so far, so fast with such an agenda they don’t know shit.

Act like shits? Oh yes, that behavior is easy to see but I find that ADMITTING my own shitty way of acting is super tough. My shitty thinking? WORSE to perceive and even worse to understand and EVEN WORSE to prevent.

“Why should I care?” is a common problem thought that flies around my mind. “Who the fuck are these people, totally in my way, with nothing to do but look at and judge me and….” Oh wait. That’s me I’m thinking about. Ugh. Stupid thoughts, leave me alone I didn’t need you back.

It’s a night of slight rain and a touch of the chill that lies here in Oregon is outside. Walking home from my day I knew tonight was going to be THE night to sit in front of my PC keyboard, play one of my many song-lists I made on Rdio, and after a warm shower and a Marlboro outside, my new post would spill out of my head and onto theJohnnyspot. I have been hinting at actually writing properly for quite some time, months in fact. Yeah I’ve posted a few pieces here and there, ALL on here actually, but not sat down to compose my life today, to explain where, who and what I am today. Until right now.

Where to begin has been beating my brain nearly unconscious since November 29, 2013. Thanksgiving… the next day precisely. I was run over while driving my scooter in downtown by a gal I adore, Carla. It was an accident and happened as we were leaving to grab coffee. She made a right, right onto me. My fab orange scooter that I drove for nearly 2 years did not survive. I did. Now, I was taken by life-flight to the hospital, Memorial Hermann in Houston, which I do not recall. I was placed on several floors over several weeks for the recovery, which I do not recall. I was moved into an actual recovery room and my Mother and brother, along with visiting friends were told “Not to expect much from him. He may never recover fully, or at all.” Funny, I do not recall that either. Even more funny is that is the 2nd time I was placed into a hospital room in Houston with a terribly bad diagnosis. First time was death, then brain damage, then survival.

That was when I was close to death by by my own hand….I drank myself there. But, God had different plans for me. I made it and recovered and 3 years later on June 9, 2014? No booze. No drugs. Well, how about that. Sobriety is a total life-changing gift I accept and thrive in. Today I was particularly ill-at-ease with the way things are happening in PDX but no matter. I’m here in “PDX” the famed city with Mt. St. Helens a little bit away. Where one of my fave directors, Gus Van Sant, shot “My Own Private Idaho” with Keanu Reeves and the fantastic River Phoenix. He was a man with troubles affecting his life but he did not make it to see today. I’m in Portland because of my love for River.

This occasion I was alive but not conscious for about 4-5 weeks. When I awoke, at least I recall awakening, I was perplexed. Where was I? “Wait, what happened to me? No, no…I am moving to Portland on December 15…the plans are all ready made…. “There is art and beauty I have to see in Portland!”

I was told that might never happen, that I had a lot of recovery to undertake. I might not ever be the same. Just be calm and patient, I was alive, so there’s that!

I was astounded. Didn’t anyone understand what I had been through before. That I was now 48 and had been through a horrible recovery from being a drug-addicted alcoholic now with time and with sponsees and a Sponsor and 2 jobs! It didn’t matter. All of my plans were now changed. I should hope, pray for my mind and body to recover and the scooter was destroyed so Ihad better have 24-hour care assigned to me now so if I ever did come back to myself, I would have the ability to make new plans.

“Fuck you! You have no idea what I’m about to do, what I have been through already” I thought and then said aloud. It was the beginning of a great lesson for me. Patience and the deep belief that God, yep, God was in control. I only had God to talk to every day, ha…all day, over and over again. In terror, in fear, in hope, in shame, in trust, in love and finally in understanding: God has a plan for me,(yes for each of us!) I was just not given the “What happens next” document that exists somewhere. Faith? I had that, I was that. So I began to wait.

I waited another 4 weeeks, before I was let out of the hospital and allowed to stay with a hired man. It was a disaster for reasons Iwill never speak of and I had no control over, mainly because my brother agreed on the idea and he is a lost man with no faith and no plan except for himself. We no longer speak, but anyway, I finally went to MY home in Montrose in February and I began living, working, and believing in God’s mysterious plan for my future. And guess what? HE came though for me. Just as He has and continues to do.

I worked at 2 different jobs, worked on my art and writing and began communicating with my friends here in Portland about my arrival. Tony Howard, Michael his husband, my teenage met when friend, Michael Reper and his husband Deric, Ria McClain…dear old friends in Los Angeles Jill Schwarz and her man Spencer and my dear dude Martin Chavez, knew I was heading west to begin my life again. My new Portlandia friends Tanner, Allison Fox and John also all knew I was going to not only going to make it but MOVE to Portland at the end of February. And I did. Tada!

And their were giving, loyal and trusting friends, employers, even some people I didn’t know helping my new life begin. They all donated money, texts and phone calls to my recovery, to my fund when I was at Memorial Hermann, unconscious and in bandages with the “Yes, I am” mindset playing slowly in my thoughts, giving me new strength, hope and the “It Will” belief I needed.

There is much more to explain: the packing of my apartment with my former partner, Brian Potter‘s assistance, Lisa Benitez‘s kindness and hope, Steve Henry‘s breakfasts and belief . The text messages from so many people I love including John Beeman in Los Angeles and Rebecca Weinberg in Manhattan. The new representative who runs Bristol Properties here in Portland, giving me help to pay the deposit, clean and ready this apartment here in the Greeway building in Northwest Portland neighborhood around the corner from the Alano Clubhouse, where I attended killer AA meetings and met Tanner.

Patience was slowly, haha, coming through almost exactly as I was told I needed, except 3 months later came through after all. I do not know what the reason was behind my being run over and in the hospital in recovery for 2 months, the aftercare plan…I asked God why but was never given an answer. I was told “It will take you a lot of believing in my plan fro you if you really want to acheive your move west.” And I did want that, NEED that and hallelujah, I GOT it. Here I sit on a rainy, chilly Wednesday night, listening to a playlist with Rufus Wainwright, Elton John, Dawes, Allison Moorer, Ami Mann and so many more musicians I adore while I type hard onto my keyboard in order to release my mind from it’s business, many of it’s memories, it’s workout.

Portland, Oregon is a dream city with so much to see and do and attend with so may people I am just meeting and some of the aforementioned ones I have the pleasure of already knowing. This Friday night? Allison and I are seeing London Grammar here in Portland on their first tour ever. Totally sold out. But I knew they were a new favorite of mine, as I had listened to their album on repeat for the week I originally arrived in Portland last fall. Their glorious sound, during the nearly perfect week of weather, walking, meetings, driving and the absolute confirmation that I was meant to live here. Portland Oregon is my home today. And I love it. As much, possibly more than when I first moved to Houston in 1982. It’s the 21st century and I am ready for each and every newness that Portland is giving me. Scratch that. It’s God. He’s given me everything I call “mine.”And I am forever in gratitude with Him for it all. Even on a rainy night with the temperature in the 30s, I sit here and say “Thank you, God.” And thank each of you readers for sticking with me so far. I’m here rain or shine. Especially rain…awesome exactly on my head. But just wait till it’s sunny here for days! No bandages needed now.

I met with my Psychiatrist today and told him I knew I had changed, my thinking at least, because it has been over 2 months since I posted a new entry on my blog. “I’m so freaking happy, I don’t have anything to say. No one wants to read ‘Everything is awesome!'” “Maybe you should write about that” he replied. Maybe I will I thought. But then wouldn’t you know it, suddenly I had something to say. It’s almost as if I manifested my topic from thin air. Almost.

Two months is the longest I have gone without writing since I started “Come Undone” and while true I am one who is more easily inspired by chaos, strife, sadness and struggle, at some point I have to, as in MUST sit down at the keyboard and write. The dam in my mind that holds back my thoughts feelings and creativity is breached and I have to let it all out, lest it crack and break and flood my psyche.

Halloween and the days before and after stir up too many emotions in me not to. Tonight marks 20 years since River Phoenix overdosed outside The Viper Room an event that impacted me on multiple levels. Yes, I had once made the pilgrimage to The Viper Room, into the very stall where he had gotten high just before collapsing. Still, I could not know how deeply until this year when I began to search for “My Own Private River” in Portland, Oregon. More on that later.

Tomorrow marks 23 years that I was first diagnosed HIV+ a day I thought meant the end and tomorrow is 1 year since I met Robert, “My Poet My Captain” (the subject of so many posts here).
that was a new beginning for me, my life, my thinking. I have to say I expected this to be our 1st anniversary, and I suppose in some ways it is, just not how I thought. “So true to life, darling” as they say in “The Way We Were.”

But what really sparked me finally sitting down tonight was the idea of manifesting what one wants into being in one’s life. Countless books have been written about this ancient theory, most famously “The Secret” and I recently traced the roots of that book back to “The Master Key,” a 24 part serial written in the early 1900s. But again, it’s much older that that. Wisdom is as wisdom was.

Example. Today I met with a perspective client about creating and producing a social media campaign for her jewelry business. Over a two and half hour lunch, we talked about her evolution as an artist, how she felt led to create and how her work speaks to her about the form it takes, something I completely relate to. Muses come in different shapes and sizes and speak to us through various ways. I was relating to her my own story of writing and making art for the last 25 years, only because I love to, with no thought nor expectation of ever making any money at it.

How so many artists feel guilty about making a real living from their craft. I was just getting ready to mention a longtime artist friend of mine, John Palmer, who has a program where he mentors artists to properly market themselves and step outside the “starving artist” model. Before I had a chance to tell my client about him, I excused myself to run to the restroom. On my way, I stopped to say hello to one of the waiters, another buddy, who I had sat with a few months back and shared my experience in marketing myself to perspective employers, when who should walk past me towards the restroom? Yep, John Palmer, the man I had just been thinking and speaking about.

After a quick catch up, I returned to my table and mentioned what had just happened. My client said “Oh, do you follow Esther and Jerry Hicks, too?” “No” I replied but mentioned The Master Key and our conversation moved into the topic of manifesting what you want. I said that in my 12-Step Program we learn that it is by giving away the knowledge and serenity we have that we get that very same peace returned. “Love thy neighbor as thy self” I said. “It’s really all the same thing, isn’t it?” she said.

As my day went on I started thinking about manifesting. I am helping a friend on his journey into recovery and I had just said to him “Don’t focus on what recovery can give you, rather what you can give others, how your own experience can help. Then “The Promises” will come about for you through the honesty and work you do.”

I have been wondering if “My Captain” will also thinking about me on the eve of our first meeting. Just as I had never seen him before we met (unusual in this case as I often run into people that I know and that I don’t**) again and again in this “smallest big city” I live in, I have not seen him since our final texts.

I began to wonder if I could manifest seeing him tonight or tomorrow, without reaching out to him? Our breakup had been painful, jarring, reality shifting on so many ways, just as our meeting had. Even though another man stood between My Captain and I (at least in his mind) destiny and fate don’t much care for human plan and schemes. So, as my thoughts wandered back to last Halloween, I started to feel. Melancholy and regret, a touch of sadness, heavy sighs. It’s been a while since I felt the “mean reds” and I decided to forgo a meeting. Silly as I always hear answers to how to deal with my feelings, to be reminded that I gave my life over to my Higher Power and that self-pity and self reliance only causes me trouble. Instead, I took control and went to a neighborhood bar, not to drink, but to find a different sort of drug. Someone to relieve me of my feelings of loneliness, even if only for a few hours. It isn’t something I do much anymore, but hey, I’m still human. Very much so. And I was beginning to reel from the waves of sadness washing over me.

I walked in and looked around, spotted a few possible interests and sat down. I thought about other times I had been here, other conquests that were intended to take away my pain, if only briefly, and walked out onto the patio. As soon as I passed through the curtain, I saw 2 men sitting a few feet away. One of them faced away from me and one looked up and right at me. I froze and turned at the same time, walking back inside. “No way” I thought. Unbelievable, really! The man who looked up at me was not Robert, no, it was the man who had stood in our way. “The Thief” the angry, violent man-child who sowed chaos into his own life and into everyone around him. Especially me. Specifically towards me. “Well, that is a TYPE of manifestation. I was close…” I sighed.

I sat my drink down on the bar and walked out. Man-child had long ago threatened to wipe the sidewalk with me the next time we faced each other and I was not taking any chances tonight. The other man, sitting with him, whose face I did not see, “was it My Captain?” I wondered as I drove away on my scooter. I wouldn’t know.

I felt like God was gently reminding me, not to take such drastic measures just to ignore the way I felt, I could and I should be writing about all of this I realized, that this was the cracking of the dam I worried about. The anniversaries that fall tomorrow are intense, escape is “old behavior” and I needed a reminder. And I got one. I was also reminded of the pain and anger and resentment I had against “The Thief.” And the work I need to do, to let God do, to move on and finally away from all of them. And moving far away was indeed coming soon, but not yet. Manifest. Be careful what you want for.

As I rethought the need for a meeting, I drove up towards my fave coffee shop to grab a joe to go. As I crossed over a nearby street I saw a man on a bicycle heading toward me. It was dark and not until he was passing under a street light did I see his face. Unbelievable, really! There riding past me, was the same smiling, handsome man on the bike I seen at that very crossing at least 5 times in as many months. As always, I smiled, he smiled as we passed each other and as I drove away, I looked back to see him looking back. Just like always**. The thought “Manifest” whipped through my mind, and I whipped around and drove after him.

I caught up to him and said “I’m sorry to bother you but this is about the 5th time I have passed you at that same crossing, at almost the same time, over the last 5 or 6 months.” “Yeah, I know, weird huh?” he replied. Introductions were made and I learned his name and that he was coming home from work at a hospice. In fact I knew where he worked as recently a friend of mine had lived his final weeks out there.” I mentioned his name and he said “Oh, yeah, of course” and touched his heart. And at that moment he touched mine.

I told him that I had just been thinking about manifesting people into ones life and alluded to seeing The Thief. I said “And then I run into you, again? I just couldn’t let you ride away this time.”

What does this all mean? I know many people say “Oh yeah aren’t coincidences like that strange?” It’s fine if that what they believe they are, I used to get angry that they couldn’t see the deeper meaning to the synchronicities in my life. Actually, the meanings were “higher” not deeper, but I digress.

Sometimes these synchronous moments were small, like when I spot the white feathers on the ground in front of me right when I am having a moment of doubt, of fear. From California to Colorado to Portland, the feathers I keep seeing are my “you’re on the right path, don’t give up” signs. “Surrender? Yes, but keep going” God says.

Sometimes big, like pushing through a challenge that in the end changes my life in ways I could never have foreseen. Recently I was ready to throw in the towel on an art donation because I didn’t have the money to buy the canvases, yet “somehow” canvases were donated to me and I not only sold the donated piece but I sold two pieces on my own. The first 2 pieces I ever made a profit on in all these years. And how other people had ordered pieces to buy, too.

Or how running out of a place I really should not have been in, heading to a meeting I really needed, to hand over my feelings of disappointment, sadness and fear to a God who always comes through for me, led me across the path of a man I wanted to know and I had finally met. On the eve of anniversaries that beguiled and bewildered me.

Manifest. The Law of Attraction. Surrender. “It’s all the same thing really.” And once again, the “coincidences” keep coming and I keep going. Grateful for another day.